


Oils

by Crockzilla



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Spidey Suit, Essential Oils, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triggers, scary spidey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 07:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12294759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Wade encounters an unexpected trigger at Avengers HQ.





	Oils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notlucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/gifts).



> This is a companion piece to notlucy's Essential. We wrote these to make her feel better at work while dealing with being triggered by an actual Douche Canoe's essential oils.
> 
> Essential oils are great. Douche Canoes who don't think about other people are not great.
> 
> This is in the same universe as Domesti-kink.

“Here you go, buddy,” Clint said, pulling out a rollie-chair in front of one of the many computer consoles in the room. This part of Avengers HQ was evidently called an “open office” configuration – lots of people sitting at desks in their own areas but with no borders between them. “Sorry we don’t have an actual office to put you in,” Clint apologized again. “If I had one I’d let you use mine, but…”

“No, this is nice,” Wade said, careful not to jostle any of the bags of Funions that filled his arms as he sat down. “I like being among the humans occasionally.”

Wade waved one bag of Funions at the guy in the next “area” who was looking at him with a mix of confusion and horror. Clint threw what looked like a sticky-note pad at the guy’s face. “Nick, what did I say about minding your own goddamn business?”

Nick hurriedly turned his attention back to his monitor. “Wow,” Wade mused as he carefully arranged his Funions and opened Bag 1, “you’re really getting into this Head of HR thing.”

Clint sighed. “I can’t wait until we hire somebody for this job and I can get back in my vents. Speaking of, if you run out of snacks, let me know – I’ve got some Good ‘n Plenty stashed above Ballroom A.”

“You are a true friend,” Wade said, sincerely. “I should be set, though – Cap just needs me to see if I recognize any of the ass clowns in this footage.”

Clint bounded off to deal with a microwave situation in the break room, and Wade nestled his ass into the cushy seat, popping in a mouth full of neon onion goodness as he turned on the surveillance footage. And he was having a pretty good time, too – eating his Funions, jotting down names of ass clowns for Cap, occasionally hearing Clint’s melodious voice chastise someone for using the copier too hard – when he suddenly became aware of a smell. A _strong_ smell. A…. _peppermint_ smell.

Wade looked around to see if perhaps an anthropomorphic candy cane had come into the open office. All he saw, though, was a smarmy-looking douche nozzle futzing with some contraption and talking to another douche nozzle about it. He caught the words “diffuser” and “essential oils.”

Oh, _jesus_ , Wade thought. He’d heard about people doing annoying, inconsiderate shit in offices from TV and magazines, and it was one of the many reasons he was happy to be a mutated freak show instead of a normal person who someone would hire for jobs that didn’t involve stabbing. Sigh, whatever, he could deal with it for the couple of hours this would take him.

Except as he settled back in and tuned out the voice of Douche #1 telling his douche friend about “ergonomic keyboards,” he realized he felt nauseated. He looked askance at Bag 15 of Funions – they had never betrayed him like this before – but then realized that his throat was also feeling kind of tight. And his tongue kind of felt like it was swelling.

As he sat and tried to figure out why he was having a panic attack in the middle of Avengers HQ, the voice of Douche #1 wafted his way again, talking about how some people didn’t appreciate “essential oils” somehow when Douche #1 really felt like it helped maximize everybody’s efficiency. A snarling, angry red knot twisted in Wade’s stomach, and he abruptly understood why he was panicking – the Butler. That sickly, overwhelming pepperminty smell was reminding him of something to do with the goddamn _Butler._

Wade pushed down his sudden, irrational need to go find his baby girl and hold her – the Butler was gone, Ellie was safe, and Preston wouldn’t let anything happen to her. With great effort, he unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. He needed to finish this up and get out of there without causing a fuss, much as he wanted to march over and disembowel Douche Guy with his own diffuser, so to do that he needed to calm down, _fast_.

He made a few swipes on his phone, quickly sending a text: _Hey_

Peter replied within seconds. _Hi!_

Wade sighed. Just seeing that precious little exclamation point made his insides untwist somewhat. But of course, because Peter could see into his brain even from across the city, another text soon followed:

_U ok?_

Wade debated pouring his panic and frustration out to his guy, but decided that was best saved for later when snuggling could also be involved, so he just said: _Yeah_

Peter could obviously deduce his distress from the brevity of his texts and lack of ridiculous pet names. _Want some dick picks?_

Wade smiled, nausea subsiding. _Yes please_

He munched on Funions and watched the rest of the surveillance footage, occasionally checking his phone to find new pictures of things in Peter’s office that looked like dicks. A few of them were really stretching it (though he supposed that fern was mildly cock-shaped, to be fair), but that wasn’t the point. His panic attack was now a manageable panic attack. He wondered if there were others in the room who were also being horribly triggered by Mitch’s choices and hated Mitch all the more.

*~*~*

Mitch made his way toward his Audi in the Avengers HQ parking garage. It was about ten minutes before he was actually supposed to leave, and his project partner was still inside feverishly typing away to make tomorrow’s deadline, but he figured it was good for her to challenge herself. He noted how early it was getting dark these days – the shadows in the garage were much deeper than they had been at this hour only a week before.

As he tossed his ergonomic bag into the passenger side, he felt a distinct chill up his spine. Was someone – behind him? He turned around, saw nothing, and immediately laughed at himself. He was probably jumpy because of the Cleanse he was doing (which was a really great cleanse and he didn’t understand why his project partner hadn’t seemed eager to hear about it). He was not prepared for the dark form that suddenly loomed right over his head, suspended impossibly from the ceiling. The black thing seemed to unfurl somehow, dropping down in front of him so that he was trapped between his Audi and this horrifying dark creature with red, glowing eyes. It looked vaguely familiar, but in his panic, he couldn’t think why.

“Hi,” the creature said in a voice that contained barely controlled rage. “Are you the really cool guy who’s been making your whole office smell peppermint whether they want to or not?”

Mitch groped at his door handle, but he heard two strange “thwip” noises and found that his hands were suddenly stuck to his door by some kind of web-like substance. He was pinned against his door, facing the horrific creature, which seemed to be grinning even though it didn’t appear to have a mouth. He started to scream, but then he heard another “thwip” and found his mouth and eyes full of the sticky, web-like stuff. He yowled helplessly into the mass that covered his face, frantic – would he suffocate? Would it poison him?

“Panicking’s no fun, is it, Mitch?” the creature asked him in a steely voice. “Lucky for you, I have a no-kill rule. But I don’t have a no-maim rule, or a no breaking-all-of-someone’s-bones rule, so I want you to think about that while you’re stuck here for the next few hours.”

Mitch sobbed pitifully into the webbing that covered his face. He felt the creature move closer to him and was pretty sure he lost control of his bladder.

“You don’t get to decide what everybody smells, Mitch,” the voice growled in his ear. “Check your fucking privilege.”

Mitch lost consciousness. When he came to a few hours later, the webbing had dissolved and he was free. He got in his Audi and drove home in his wet pants, mentally composing the email he was going to send to HR the next day.

*~*~*

When Peter called Clint and said he may have webbed up and terrified one of his employees in the parking garage, Clint seemed to immediately know who he was talking about.

“Goddamn _Mitch!”_ Clint cried in frustration. “I fucking told that guy he’s got to stop triggering people’s boyfriends! He’s been threatened by, like, four Avengers now!”

When they hung up, Peter could still hear Clint muttering “that guy, that fuckin’ guy” under his breath.

“I hope they hire an HR person soon,” he said to Wade as he came back into the living room, “because I think this is maybe too stressful for Clint.”

But Wade was passed out with his head lolling against the back of the couch, one arm slung around Ellie’s shoulders. “Daddy fell asleep,” she informed Peter with a tiny, adorable eye-roll.

Peter grinned, sitting down on the other side of Ellie and lifting Wade’s arm so she could un-trap herself. “He had a super dumb day.”

“Yeah,” Ellie mused, petting her sleeping dad’s slack, blissed-out face before turning back to Peter. “Do we have to keep watching Designing Women?”

“Nope – you’re the boss, Boss.”

Peter gladly handed Ellie the remote. They had let Wade indulge in his 90s sitcoms because when you had a panic attack you got whatever you needed after, but now that he was asleep Peter was perfectly happy to watch _Moana_ for the 87 th time. Ellie snuggled into his side, and he reached out to give his boyfriend’s sleeping form a squeeze on the shoulder before settling his arm around his kind-of-kiddo. They were having an emergency sleep-over, so if all three of them passed out on the couch, no biggie.

As Ellie giggled at Moana’s screaming chicken friend (whose name he could never remember) Peter vaguely wondered if Mitch had learned his lesson. Probably not. But he was soon pulled out of anger-spiraling about Mitch by Ellie poking him in the side until he started singing along with her to “Shiny,” which was her favorite song, because Ellie was the Coolest Human. They sang softly, so as not to wake Wade, but Peter thought his sleeping face relaxed even more and hoped it was because he could hear them singing and knew they were safe. All three of them.


End file.
